


Why Bother?

by Phoenixflames12



Series: An Endless Night: Extended Scenes [1]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Gen, Gotham's Writing Workshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflames12/pseuds/Phoenixflames12
Summary: March, 1912At the age of eight and a half, Jamie Fraser receives the news that his elder brother Willie, has died from smallpox





	Why Bother?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for @gotham-ruriadh's 'Gotham's Writing Workshop' on tumblr.

March 1912

 

‘Fraser! Fraser, are ye in here, ye little clot?’

 

The prefect’s voice is lost in the din of the changing room, a rowdy muddle of sweat and mud and rugby studs bashing clean against bare, wooden slats. Boys of all ages squabble and laugh and shove into the icy torrent of water cascading through the showers, eyes shining through bright faces slapped red and ruddy from the wind’s arctic chill.

 

‘Aye?’

 

Jamie Fraser, pokes his head out from under his towel, his bright crown of auburn curls sticking up in spikes, slanted cat eyes wide with questions.

 

‘What d’ye want wi’ me McGregor?’

 

A small smile quivers at the corners of his lips, a twinkle sparkling in the deep, blue depths of his eyes.

 

‘Piper wants tae see ye, ye little squirt. In his office. Quick aboot it, now.’ McGregor’s face is blandly impassive, only a flicker of distaste at the rabble of underlings passing across his dark, chiselled features.

 

_Piper._

 

The name ripples through the room like a shock, the chatter dying in the boys’ throats as thirty expectant faces turn in Jamie’s direction.

 

_Piper._

To be summoned to the master’s office without warning like this was a sure sign that something was not right.

 

_Trouble at home?_

_Detention?_

In that moment, a low, buzzing whisper seems to rise from the depths of the room, whirring and careering endlessly as Jamie remains mutely silent, trying to find his voice.

 

‘Did… Did he say why?’

 

Jamie’s voice sounds strange to his own ears; a strangled croak that catches at the back of his throat.

 

McGregor shakes his head, one foot tapping restlessly, obviously eager to be away from this haven of sweat and muck.

 

The few eyes that had been fixed on the prefect now flicker in Jamie’s direction. Some are sympathetic, some hostile and all of them are filled with the same unspoken question to which he can only shrug out an answer as he pulls on his shirt, not caring that the fabric soaks and sticks against his still damp skin.

 

_‘Why?’_

_‘Dinna ken.’_

Tugging on the coarse green wool jumper and stuffing his feet into his school shoes, not bothering to tie the laces, he follows McGregor out of the changing room and through the rabbit warren of corridors to Mr Piper’s office.

 

* * *

 

 

The apple blossom has just come into bloom on the crab apple tree that ripples against Mr Piper’s window, looking out over the lawn, but Jamie hardly sees it.

 

McGregor had knocked once, stood back and waited for the customary, low growl of ‘enter!’ to boom through the thick, wood panelling before prodding Jamie forward in the small of his back.

 

Grey eyes framed by half-moon, horn rimmed spectacles flick up from the paperwork. Badger, the black and white mongrel terrier, sprawled on the musty sofa, lifts her head from her paws, yellow eyes gleaming, ears pricked at the new arrivals.

 

The office smells of old leather and cut glass, the faded sepia photographs of past 1stXI Rugger teams, their arms folded or planted firmly on bare, mud stained knees, staring coldly down from the walls.

 

Jamie swallows, the action thick in his throat; hot prickles of sweat catching on the backs of his palms.

 

‘Fraser here to see you, sir,’ McGregor coughs into the silence and then steps away into the safety of the shadowy passage.

 

‘Ah, Fraser, come in.’

 

The grey eyes look up once, raking over him, a muscle working silently in his throat.

 

Slowly, Piper stands and picks up a yellow, unopened telegram envelope from the top of the pile of papers, eyes never leaving Jamie’s face.

 

The stare unnerves him somewhat, the fear that something has gone truly, horribly wrong growing stronger with every passing second.

 

_But what?_

_Could it be Mam? She had been six months pregnant at Christmas, rosy faced and glowing with the prospect of new life. Could…?_

_Or Da? Had his father taken a turn and collapsed? Jamie knows that Brian Fraser’s health had been declining for some time now, he would be a fool not to._

_The tough, weathered skin felt like paper at times, mottled and bruised as it shivered to remain still._

_His father’s breath had not come easily to him when Jamie and Willie were home for the Christmas holiday, stopping frequently to rest on their walks over the moor, listening to the cry of the curlew, or a faint, rasping shriek of a startled grouse._

_Or…_

‘You had better sit down for this Jamie, I think,’ Mr Piper’s use of his Christian name brings his back with a shock, startling him.

 

The Masters never used the boys’ Christian names, preferring to remain formal and impassive; the surnames creating a barrier of aloof distance between them and the children under their watch.

 

‘Sir?’

 

The word is more of a squeak than a question.

 

‘You heard me. Sit,’ a long fingered hand that is dark with callouses from decades of fountain pens, gestures to the sofa.

 

Slowly, Jamie sits, pushing over as far as he can away from Badger. It was school legend thar she bit hard whenever she was around people that she didn’t know and with her yellow eyes gleaming out of their black mask, Jamie doesn’t want to take any chances.

 

Mr Piper’s grey eyes have taken on a strange softness as he looks down at Jamie, slowly easing himself onto the sofa, the unopened envelope held tight between two fingers.

 

‘I’m sorry that I have to be the one to tell you this, Jamie,’ each word is spoken with deliberate care, each word making Jamie’s heart beat faster, blood thundering through his ears.

 

‘But…’ Piper swallows at that and looks down, just for a moment.

 

_Something really bad, then._

_Really, really bad._

_Mam._

_Da._

_Willie._

_Willie who had complained of a high fever late one night and been moved to the sick bay in a swish of white linen and blue striped pyjamas._

_Willie, who had seen small, white spots on his tongue a week ago, but had still found the time to escape Matron’s clutches and creep down to Jamie’s dorm so that they could read Jenny’s latest letter, tucked up together under a mountain of blankets to stem Willie’s shivering, clutching the torch between them._

_‘_ I must tell you that your brother has died. He passed away peacefully this morning at your home. Your parents and sister were with him at the last. I am truly sorry.’

 

_Willie._

_Dead._

_Passed away._

_Peacefully._

_Willie._

_Gone._

_No._

_No._

The words don’t make any sense.

 

_Willie can’t…_

_He couldn’t…_

_Not when there was so much that he had left to do…_

_The treehouse in the old Oak that overlooked the small loch, that they had started at the end of the summer, working until the shadows were long and dense and black over the grass, laughing as they marvelled at Brian Fraser’s tools._

_The small, carved snake that his brother had pressed into his hand on that first, terrifying train journey to school, the beechwood warm beneath his fingers._

_‘I carved it special, just for ye.’_

 

The words roar and tumble through Jamie’s brain like a steam train that is out of control.

 

Without knowing how he’s managed it, Jamie finds himself on his feet, shoving away from the sofa.

 

‘No,’ the word is ragged in his throat.

 

‘No.’

 

Because Willie can’t be dead.

 

He just can’t.

 

He can’t because Jamie cannot, will not accept that he will never see the slanted blue eyes, with just a hint of grey at the corners of their irises, sparkle with the foundations of another cunning plan. Never again will he hear Willie laugh or see him sit quietly by the fire; slowly transforming a piece of ash or elm or beech into an intricately detailed model with the flick and scrape of his penknife.

 

‘No, he can’t,’ the words are desperate because if he says them enough, it will mean that what he’s just been told, that absolute worst thing, is not true. Every bone in his body is trembling, the need to scream, to break something, to roar and rage and cry away the agony that is tearing in his heart.

 

‘I am sorry, Fraser. Truly.’

 

He doesn’t even recognise Piper’s switch to his formal surname.

 

‘You’re lying,’ Jamie manages at last.

 

‘Would that I were lad’

 

Piper’s voice is too soft, too modulated, too… Too calm for him to take any comfort from, not even flinching when the accusation hits him.

 

Instead a hand reaches for him, a gesture that in any other circumstance could offer comfort, but now is too steady.

 

Too calm.

 

Too understanding.

 

_Why bother?_

_Why bother living at all, when the bright flame, the brother that he has worshipped with the entirety of his heart has gone to a place where he cannot follow?_

A deep, sobbing breath catches suddenly in his throat, blood roaring like a waterfall of agony through his ears.

 

Bright, painful explosions of colour dance before his eyes, bursting out of sudden darkness.

 

The hand on his arm has tightened, but he doesn’t care anymore.

 

Piper can do and say what he likes.

 

It doesn’t matter.

 

‘Fraser… Jamie… Look at me.’

 

It’s a command, not a question, but he finds that he can’t obey.

 

‘Look at me, lad.’ Fingers digging tighter into the wool of his jumper, through the coarse linen of his shirt.

 

Slowly, eyes stinging with effort, lower lip trembling, he looks up.

 

The master’s face is drawn with lines of sorrow, grey eyes shining through the lenses of his spectacles.

 

‘You will get through this pain, lad. It shows that you’re human, that is all. Your brother will be greatly missed by all who knew him here. He will never be forgotten here, and I think that he would not want you to grieve him for too long. But you must bear it. For the sake of his memory and, I think, for the sake of your own.’

 

_You think?_

_You think?!_

_Why do you think?_

_What can you possibly ken about my brother that I dinna?_

‘Hm?’

 

‘Aye, sir,’ the lie tastes grey and dry on his tongue.

 

In that moment he feels far older than eight and a half, feels as if he has lived and lost a thousand lives already.

 

‘Go on, then.’

 

Slowly, heavily, Jamie makes his way from the room, pulling the heavy oak door to Piper’s office closed.

 

Standing there in the silence, as the weight of each breath dares to force him under, he hears the quiet, comforting voice of his brother holding him in the silence.

 

‘I’m here. I’m here,  _bràthair._ Even if ye canna see me, I’ll always be here for ye.’

 

* * *

 

_**Fin** _

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to read and review! Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain!
> 
> Much love and enjoy x (sorry, not sorry, about the angst)


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